Pools of Silver, Sheets of Gold
by J a friend
Summary: It's a tale as old as love itself: Boy has girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl back. Only... he never really had her to begin with. She's much too wary for that.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Their eyes locked, gold and silver, each trying to see into the other's soul.

He had thought her eyes were flat, solid, dull. But now he could see that they were deep, twisting pools of molten metal, currents pulsing and flowing around her iris.

She had thought that his eyes were utter, unbroken expanses of gold. But now she could see that they weren't. She could see the tiny lines and patches of lighter and darker ambers, a particularly bright hue coming out in a sunburst pattern from his pupil.

The moon, the cold silver sentinel keeping the light alive.

The sun, the bright, warm golden beacon of hope the day brings.

As his lips curved into a smile, she placed a hand on his cheek. His high cheekbone dug into her palm.

"I guess James was right," he said. "I really can learn to love the moon."

He pressed his lips to hers shyly for a moment, then pulled away slightly before she tugged him back, and he laughed. Bathed in moonlight, glowing amongst the trees, the two intertwined, arms wrapped around each other, feeling the cool wind batting against them as they clung to each other.

She pulled away first. Her dazzling eyes glittered, crimson hair standing out against the grey and black around her, a drop of blood in the dark forest landscape.

"I suppose the sun isn't so bad either."

He laughed then. A tired, exalted laugh.

"Come on. We should get back."

They slowly walked back to the shimmering, enchanting castle sprawled above them, looking out at the great forest, a guardian protecting those innocents it held.

For no matter how old you get, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.

 **A/N: And that, ladies and gents, is called a teaser. Let me know if you like it and I MAY post the first chapter tomorrow. Take a chance: it's not as cliche as it seems. We all know I hate cliches. See you next week! (And tomorrow if you're good)**

 **~~~J, a friend. "Sanctissimi cordis, quam acerrimi aniomi!"**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Obviously.**

 _Two months earlier_

"Eli."

"No."

"Eli, get up."

"Burn in hell."

"Test me, I dare you. I've been dying to check out this wicked hex that makes you feel like you're upside down, that ought to be a laugh-"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, calm down!"

Eli Martin sat up, groaning. Stretching, he grabbed a white t-shirt and slipped it on. He was rather beautiful, was Eli, what with his sculpted face reeking of aristocracy and his dark hair falling in his eyes, eyes the color of fourteen-carat gold.

"Let's go to breakfast."

"I'm coming! Merlin Eddie, is there an emergency?"

"Ah, stuff it, Plato."

Eli laughed. Shaking his head, he followed his friend. Edward Trudeau could be his brother, with a similarly royal-looking face and sandy hair as thick and untamed as his friend's dark locks. His deep sea green eyes were still heavy with sleep. He clapped Eli on the back and gave a sadistic grin.

"Aren't you glad to be up this early?" His friend laughed as they stepped out of the common room, making the long trek down to breakfast.

The only answer was a groan and a muttered expletive in French.

Then Eli gave an even more terrifying grin.

"Did you do the Transfiguration essay? Eight inches on the principle of transfiguring inanimate objects into living things?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" The loud curse caused many younger students' heads to turn. Eddie winced. Many of the students laughed. Eddie was pretty well-known as an excellent tutor and overall nice guy, but they knew he was never at his best on Monday mornings, despite his seemingly chipper attitude.

Eli grinned. "Thought not."

...

"Get up, Grace."

Grace McCarthy jumped up as the voice of her friend cut through her sleepy daze. "I'm up."

Grace was rather beautiful too, really, with curly dark red tresses falling in a curtain down her back, silvery grey eyes dark and murky with weariness and stress.

She stretched and smiled as she saw the familiar face of Dominique Weasley as the other girl brushed her straight blond hair. Dominique had inherited the Veela blood from her mother, and most boys swooned when she smiled their way.

Most.

Excluding, of course, the one boy that had captured her eye. Thomas Finnigan.

Named after his father's best friend, Thomas had dark hair like his father and heterochromatic eyes like his mother, one a glittering hazel and the other a deep brown; he was a Ravenclaw, a sixth year like her, and a very good friend of the Weasley-Potter clan.

Thomas also happened to be one of perhaps three boys besides Dominique's family that was completely unaffected by her charms, the others quite fittingly being Eli and Eddie.

A pillow smacked Grace in the face as another of her roommates, Roxanne Weasley, attempted to get her attention.

"What?" Grace blinked.

"I said, hurry up. I need breakfast, it's Monday."

...

James Sirius Potter strolled into the Great Hall with one arm around Eli's shoulders, the other around Eddie's.

The strong, intimidating woman that sat at the head of the table that faced the four houses was suddenly hit with a wave of rather painful memories: memories of another messy-haired boy with glasses, who befriended another thin, sandy-haired, brilliant boy and another handsome, dark-haired Pureblood rebel. She smiled, eyes glistening, as she remembered the boys that had truly left the largest imprint on her of any students that she had taught. _They died far too soon. They had so much more to give._

She wondered what it would be like if they sat with her, grey-haired and lined now, watching the boys that looked so much like them laugh and throw food at each other, reminiscing of their own Hogwarts days and each planning their own classes, joking with their favorite teacher, old Minnie McG.

A/N: So I felt like posting this along with another Unexpected Turn chapter because I couldn't stand keeping this parallel to myself anymore. That last part was uncalled for and probably just plain rude, I know. But what can I say? Salt in the thirty-six and a half year old wound.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Blue eyes slowly blinked open, and the old man that sat in the painting shifted slightly, his right hand coming up to straighten his half-moon spectacles.

He looked down at the tall boy that stood in front of him, rocking back on his heels, his hands fidgeting with his tie.

Dumbledore allowed a soft smile to creep across his face as he fixed the boy that looked even more like his grandfather than even his father did in his piercing gaze.

"Ah. Young Mr. Potter. What can I do for you, dear boy?"

James glanced awkwardly up at him. "It's-it's not important sir. I was just wondering if you could tell me something about my father."

Dumbledore's eyes immediately sparkled with interest. "Oh?"

A hand came up to rake stray hairs back from where they dangled in the boy's face, and Dumbledore nearly snorted. "Yes. I was wondering... I just... well, you see..."

Quiet laughter made the boy pause, and he looked up to see the wizened headmaster chuckling. Once again, somewhere in the back of his mind, James wondered how one would create an enchanted painting.

"Before one can talk, one must listen. And how could you listen to another when you cannot listen to your thoughts long enough to string together a sentence?" Dumbledore smiled. "Take a breath, James. And begin again."

James nodded his head enthusiastically, black hair bouncing as he did so. "Sorry. I was just wondering if... well, I wanted to know if he was ever afraid."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows crinkled as he frowned slightly, taken aback. "Your father?"

At James's nod, he continued. "Of course he was afraid. Many times, in fact, and he did not care who knew. It is not fear that you should be ashamed of; it's whether you take action when you know you must that truly matters. What is the use for bravery if it does nothing to aid in your acting on it?"

James nodded. With his hands in his pockets and his square glasses propped crookedly on his nose, his shirt untucked and tie hanging loosely around his neck, he was painfully similar to his grandfather; the only difference was a small silvery scar that marked the corner of James Sirius's eye, the product of a collision with the Whomping Willow at around fifty miles per hour. ("What do you mean? It was a great idea Eli, poor Jamesie here just didn't duck fast enough!")

"I just... what've I done, what'll I ever do, that could compare to the great Harry Potter. He defeated bloody Voldemort what, four times by the time he was my age? Sorry, Professor," he added hastily when Dumbledore's eyebrow raised at the language.

"My point is, all I'll ever be to the Wizarding World is one of Harry Potter's three children, one of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger's nephews, a number, a statistic, a footnote. And who honestly wants that? I think I'd prefer not being remembered at all.

"I know it sounds dramatic, but everything little doubt or insecurity I've ever had seems like pathetic nonsense compare to the shit-er, _stuff_ -that my father had to deal with. I mean, how can I talk to him about it without sounding like a whiny little tot?"

James glanced up and frowned, taken aback.

Dumbledore was fast asleep in his painting, a soft whistling noise punctuating each breath.

James started to say something, to wake him up, but shook his head at the last moment and walked away.

Adults never seemed to listen anyway.

...

But as the annoyed Gryffindor turned and plodded down the sunlit corridor, the blue eyes cracked open again, and a soft smile set upon Dumbledore's face.

As he turned his wizened face toward the golden rays streaming through the windows, once again silently grateful for being hung in such a beautiful place, Dumbledore contemplated an eternity of watching harried students walk the old halls, slowly becoming simply another name and face to be memorized in History of Magic, the great wizard that was revered so many years ago.

And yet, he thought as James disappeared around the corner, he would also get to see the countless generations of wizards growing up, see the descendants of his students populate the halls where their parents once stood. And one thing was for sure; there would always be a child with messy black hair and that same mischievous twinkle in their eyes, willing to continue the family tradition.

There would always be a Potter.

And so, Dumbledore thought, of course everything wouldn't be perfect.

But all was well.

 **A/N: Hehe... hey, guys...? *flinches and ducks rotten fruit* I am so sorry for being on a... well, two-month hiatus, I guess? It was just really depressing to have to end my favorite story that I've written or even started to write, and plus I've had a really busy summer. Do I have any fans from New England? Because man, I love coming back up here to visit. That's where I'm from, by the way; I live in Mississippi now. Anyone from there either? Anyway, let's just say a lot of family stuff happened. But I'm back now! ...mostly! I'll update either this or The Life Chosen on Monday, whichever one I get inspiration for. Didn't mean to make the A/N this long, just wanted to give you an update. Love you guys, and I hope you know that no matter what you are going through, YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT AND YOU CAN WIN.**

 **~~~J, a friend. "Sanctissimi cordis, quam acerrimi animi!"**


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